


5 Times Bruce Hits his Robins + 1 Time They Fight Back

by Ratclowns



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bruce has fucked every single one of the Robins and even if I don't say it you can feel it, Bruce is a terrible father, Implied Relationships, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratclowns/pseuds/Ratclowns
Summary: Bruce has always taken out his aggression on the Robins. Each is different, but his methods are the same.5+1 fic feat. 5 specific times Bruce hit his kids and 1 time they fight back as a group. happy father's day





	5 Times Bruce Hits his Robins + 1 Time They Fight Back

1.

The first time Bruce raises a hand against him, Dick cries. Dick remembers it vividly; it was during his first year as Robin, they were coming home from a bad patrol, and it was a cold evening. He was shivering, his legs covered in goosebumps, and Bruce had only offered the promise of a hot bath once when they had first set out. Dick had lost one of the men they were tailing, and when Bruce caught the other they had found he wasn’t carrying information or stolen goods; useless to them. 

Dick should have known Bruce was on edge; he backhanded the man with one hand lifting him off the pavement, a threat rolling off Bruce’s tongue. The man knew nothing about his co-conspirator and Bruce had to make the laborious trek to Commissioner Gordon’s office to turn him in directly. The other man was free. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick says on the drive back to the Manor. He’s shivering in the passenger seat, teeth clacking loudly together. Bruce leaves the heat off. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” Bruce says. A long silence follows. Dick tries to not focus on the way it hangs in the air, watches the neon of the street mix with the dark of the sky. He can’t leave it alone. 

“I’ll do better next time, I promise.” 

“Yes, you will.” More silence. Dick draws his knees to his chest and sighs. He doesn’t understand Bruce sometimes, can’t ever hope to imagine what the man is thinking, his entire facade as perfect as the sculpted marble in the Manor. 

“We’re gonna find him, though, I know it!” 

“Dick. Stop talking.” 

“I promise, I’m gonna work extra hard tomorrow and--” 

Bruce slams the brakes and turns the car off. He gets out, slamming the door behind him. Dick follows. 

“Get back in the car.” Bruce says. “Now.” 

Dick startles but steels himself and lifts his head high. “No. I’m gonna make it up to you. I’m gonna make sure tomorrow we catch this guy, and then you won’t be mad--”

Bruce slams him against the hood of the car. It takes a moment for Dick’s mind to catch up, his vision spinning before coming to rest on the red of Gotham’s sky. Distantly, he thinks about how good the heat of the engine feels on his chilled back. 

“You don’t get to make it up to me.” 

“B, what, I don’t,” Dick sputters, Bruce’s forearm pressing into his neck and pinning him to the car. 

“You made a mistake. When you make mistakes, people can die, Dick. Those are the consequences. You don’t get to make it up to me. You don’t get to work extra hard to fix it. The next mistake you make can cost someone their life. Don’t do it again.” 

Dick can feel tears in his eyes. He tries to focus on Bruce through the white eyes of his mask, tries to search for the kindness he knows is there. The arm against his throat burns and it hurts to swallow. 

“I’m sorry,” Dick tries, tears spilling from his eyes. “I’m sorry, B, I’m sorry!” 

Bruce’s face twists. It’s not the reaction he wants, Dick realizes, when the back of Bruce’s hand strikes his cheek. The force turns his head and rattles his teeth. He can’t breathe, he’s too stunned, his eyes wide. 

Bruce realizes immediately what he’s done. 

“I’m so sorry, Dick.” He runs one hand over Dick’s cheek, red from the impact, then steps away. “We’ve had a long night. I didn’t mean to.” 

Dick tries to stop the tears streaking down his hot face. His lip quivers as he gets up from the hood of the car and rushes to Bruce, wrapping his arms around the taller man. He sobs into Bruce’s costume, lets himself be carried back to the car. He falls asleep in the passenger seat, the heat finally on, and doesn’t wake up until the next morning. He’s in Bruce’s bed, face pressed into the man in his sleep. 

The second time Bruce hits him, Dick doesn’t cry, but he does follow him to bed in the same way, craving the closeness after a punishment. It becomes a pattern, and neither Bruce nor Dick ever talk about it.

 

2.

Jason is used to Bruce hitting him. He stokes it, like a pyromaniac would, with fascination and precision, watching the flames lick and grow beyond his control. That’s Jason’s favorite part: when Bruce stops listening to him entirely, consumed with anger. 

It had been a normal fight. Bruce was concerned with the way Jason took out his anger during patrols, and Jason responded simply enough. 

“What the fuck are you going to do about it?” 

Bruce growls. “Watch it, Jason.” 

The thrill in Jason’s stomach grows. He smiles. “No, tell me. What should I do instead? Tell you what, when we track down a drug dealer I’ll ask him politely to turn himself in. And you can give him a pamphlet on addiction, and then we’ll go let him surrender to the police. How does that sound?” 

Bruce approaches and Jason’s heart swells. “Final warning.” 

He smiles. “I’ll just tell that mean ol’ Joker how much you hate violence and I’m sure he’ll listen to reason. And hey, I’m sure all those people he’s already killed won’t mind--”

Bruce punches him squarely in the jaw. It’s the only way to make Jay stop talking, he’s found, one way or another. Jason spits, blood from his newly split lip coloring it. 

“What example are you setting for me, Daddy? Maybe this is where I learned it from.” 

Bruce grabs him by the collar and lands two more hits, Jason’s nose beginning to bleed down his chin. Jay drags his tongue through it where he can reach, licks as much as he can, watches Bruce’s brow furrow with anger. 

Jason thrives on the attention. 

“Come on, Daddy. Is that the best you can do?” 

 

3.

Tim was used to Bruce’s punishments. He got used to it as Robin, got used to it as Red Robin, got used to it as Tim Drake. He expected it, when he returned from visiting Ra’s. He knew someone would tip off Bruce, be it Damian or Talia or Ra’s himself or someone else that disliked him personally enough to tattle on him. 

“You know I don’t like you speaking with him.” Bruce doesn’t turn from his position at the computer in the middle of the cave, even when Tim puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I needed intel. It was just a meeting.” Tim says. Sometimes he gets off easy, and Bruce decides ignoring him would be easier than beating him, and Tim can ruminate on what exactly he did wrong without having to press his fingers into his bruises. 

He’s not so lucky. “You don’t know the way he looks at you. Like he can win you to his side. He’s not trustworthy and any intel from him is worthless.” 

Tim smiles. “It was good enough to tip off the police. There was a shipment of weapons coming into Gotham harbor and Ra’s gave me everything, even down to the dock number.”

Bruce stands, his back still to Tim. 

“You know I don’t like it, Tim.” 

Tim sighs. He knows that voice, has studied the cadences to hear the barely contained anger beneath the surface. He knows what’s coming, knows it’s not about the results but the methods. 

Bruce lands a clean hit against Tim’s chin, forcing him backwards. No matter how often it happens, Tim is always surprised with how fast Bruce is. Another blow lands against his cheekbone and Tim can feel the bruise already blooming, purpling in the shape of his mask and creeping beyond. He takes it, waits for Bruce throw another punch, breathing hard, saying nothing. Dick had told him early how talking always made it worse. 

Instead, Bruce takes a seat at his computer again. 

Tim catches his breath and takes his place at Bruce’s side. He knows Bruce wants him to go, to lick his wounds in private. The silence was part of the punishment, Tim knows. But that’s the part he hates the most, the neglectfullness. He won’t allow Bruce to have both. 

“When are we patrolling?” Tim asks. 

Bruce doesn’t answer. 

“We’ll leave at 9.” Tim says. “I’m gonna put ice on this and come back. I know you don’t like it. I’m not leaving you.” 

Bruce gives the barest of a smile and for Tim it’s enough. It’s always enough. 

 

4.

Steph is different, but not enough for Bruce to change his habits. 

He has her over the edge of a roof, his hand tangled in her hair, her face pressed into the tile. She sees, stories below, cars zooming past. It’s a far enough fall that if he pushed her, she knows she’d die. 

“What did you do wrong?” Bruce asks. 

“I don’t know!” Stephanie yells. “You won’t fuckin’ tell me.” 

Bruce pushes her face further into the edge of the roof and then drags her up by her hair. “Because if you don’t know, then you’re already dead, Stephanie.” 

He pushes her closer to the building’s edge. Her vision swims and her heart throbs in her chest at the height. It’s terrifying. 

“Do you want that?” Bruce asks, his voice like a razor. Stephanie hears it above the ringing in her ears. 

“No!” Steph says, her eyes focused on the traffic below. 

“What makes you think you’re good enough?” Bruce asks. “Because if you can’t even identify what you did wrong I might as well push you now. You’ll end up dead either way.” 

“I’m sorry!” Stephanie tries. “I didn’t check the perimeter when you said to! I assumed no one was around us! I didn’t, I didn’t do good enough, I’m sorry!” 

Bruce sighs and drags her by her hair away from the roof’s edge. 

Stephanie breathes a sigh of relief that’s interrupted by Bruce’s foot connecting with her jaw. 

She rolls with it, landing at the other end of the rooftop. Her back hits a pipe and she feels her bottom lip split. She wants to cry but doesn’t. 

“What did you do wrong?” Bruce asks again. 

Stephanie tries to breathe through the rush of pain. “I didn’t trust you.” 

“Good.” Bruce says, extending a hand to help her up. Stephanie doesn’t take it and rises on her own, wiping the blood from her mouth. 

“Won’t happen again, boss.” She says, voice harsh. The rest of the patrol goes fine and when Stephanie showers that night she breaks some of the shower tiles with an angry kick and violent scream; no one confronts her about it. 

 

5.

Damian was born from pain. 

He knew it well, like an old friend. He knew the different kinds of pain, bruises from brute force an entirely different feeling from the cold slice of a blade. Damian was born from pain and he knew pain well, but never reveled in it until Bruce. 

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t backhand Damian for much longer than anyone thought he could hold out. Even Jason commented on it one night, saying that there’s no way Bruce lasted that long with him. “I’m not trying to raise him like I did you, Jason.” Bruce grits, and Jason laughs and leaves. 

However, Damian doesn’t make it easy. He fights to kill, and Bruce finds himself spending more time battling Damian than any criminals. Bruce knows the look in Damian’s eyes, the thrill from knowing you’re about to do something satisfying and deserved and wrong, so wrong. He knocks the knife from Damian’s grasp and the man beneath Damian runs to the police waiting outside the bank, begging for protection from him. 

Damian snarls. “How dare you!” 

“You were going to kill him, Damian. I won’t let you make that choice.” 

Damian takes another knife from his belt and raises it at Bruce. “I’ve been allowed to make that  _ choice _ for myself since I could walk, you have no  _ right  _ to tell me I can’t, you--”

Bruce backhands him and the knife skitters across the polished floor. 

“I am your  _ father, _ Damian.” 

His mouth hangs open, hand raising to his cheek. The shock across his face doesn’t yield anger, just respect. 

“Again.” Damian says. 

“What?” Bruce laughs. “That was a  _ warning _ , Damian. A punishment.” 

Damian crowds against Bruce and takes a third knife from his belt. He says, breathless, “Do it again.” 

Bruce holds Damian’s wrist in his hand, gripping until he drops the knife. With his left hand, Damian grabs another. 

Bruce does the same thing, both hands gripping Damian’s wrists hard enough to bruise, the knives now resting at his feet. 

“More.” Damian says. “Or I’ll kill the next person who walks in here. I don’t care who it is.” 

Bruce studies his face, the face of his child, and headbutts him with enough force to break Damian’s nose. 

“Thank you,” Damian says, as soon as Bruce releases his hands. His nose is bent and gushing blood and Bruce realizes at any moment the police would be coming through the doors to sweep the area. 

“Good boy,” is all he can manage, his hand resting on Damian’s shoulder. “Good boy.” 

Damian smiles. He knows pain, revels in whatever Bruce gives him, licks the blood from his lips and smiles. 

 

+1

Bruce dreams about it. 

He’s different places in the dreams, sometimes at home and sometimes on a rooftop and sometimes dressed and sometimes broken. 

He’s alone, at first. And then, all he knows is sensation. 

In the dreams he can tell who it is that’s hitting him without seeing them. He knows when it’s Dick that’s slapping him, knocking teeth until he’s biting his tongue and tasting blood. Bruce knows when it’s Jason making him beg, making him talk as Jason’s fists make contact with his jaw. He knows Tim, wordless and methodical blackening one of his eyes. He knows it’s Stephanie throwing a kick into his stomach, another landing against his back when he doubles over, forcing him against the ground, heaving. He knows Damian, trailing small hands over him and asking about how it feels to be hurt, each blow landing against him with precision. They work together until he’s broken against the ground. 

Bruce dreams about them taking their anger out on him, over and over again, until he’s amazed he wakes up at all. It feels real, feels vivid, feels cathartic. He craves it. He dreams of the day that they each take their turn, exacting whatever revenge they feel they deserve, forcing him to submit. He craves it. 

Bruce wakes up, doesn’t talk about it, and doesn’t change his behavior.

He can dream. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter @ ratclowns for more "batman fucks and hits his kids" content.  
> Happy (late) Father's Day!


End file.
